


to outgrow

by hellbeast



Series: hey, fashion disaster [1]
Category: Bleach, Kill la Kill
Genre: A Girl and Her Kamui, Barely Canon Compliant, F/F, Gen, but i mean does it really count it's bleach everyone's dead, technically tagged for character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbeast/pseuds/hellbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that Ryuuko’s never thought about dying, it’s just that she thought if Ragyo wasn’t the one to do her in, then no one would. That no one <em>could</em>.</p><p>She is, obviously, wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to outgrow

**Author's Note:**

> so I finally finished watching kill la kill and my need to fix things (somehow) turned into a crossover

She feels small, after.

When all was said and done, Honnou was a strong place—how could it not be, with Satsuki and her Goku-enforced caste system?—and repairs were undertaken with a ferocious sort of pride.

Ryuuko gets up every morning, waking with the sun, and walks two streets over to the Mankanshoku’s for breakfast.

(She hadn’t felt right staying there, after. The place had been a mess, barely anything left, and Ryuuko couldn’t—wouldn’t—be a burden.)

She says good morning—softly, because Mataro and Mako’s dad are usually still asleep—and takes the proffered plate of croquettes. She professes her thanks for the food and eats. She hugs Mako’s mom, kisses Mako on the cheek and leaves.

Some days, she goes to the coast to help with the repairs; even though Senketsu is... even though she’s alone now, she’s still made of Life Fibers, and the heavy lifting is cathartic. Other days, she goes to the ruins of Honnouji Academy to drag Satsuki away from her planning and scheming for lunch. Once in a while, she’ll meet up with Mikisugi, and he’ll tell her more about her father and his research.

Most days, she goes to a small tea shop and speaks—surprisingly enough—to Gamagouri. To Ira.

(“After everything, Matoi… Ryuuko-sama,” he tells her, eyebrows drawn severely, hulking frame barely tucked into the booth, “I believe that we can address each other informally.”)

When she uses that time to talk—haltingly, oh so carefully—about Senketsu, he asks, flustered, why she doesn’t go to Satsuki.

“Surely Satuski-sama would know more of the bond between a kamui and its wearer?” He’d asked and Ryuuko had only managed to laugh bitterly.

“Junketsu was a _monster_ ,” she’d told him, “We didn’t just call him that for fun.”

(The truth is, Satsuki never _wore_ Junketsu, not like how Ryuuko wore Senketsu. She and Senketsu, they synchronized, became one in the same; Satsuki always had to override Junketsu, assert her will as absolute to even let him near her skin.

Ryuuko remembers wearing Junketsu, remembers how _quiet_ he was, like a predator lying in wait. She only ever heard him twice. Once, when she ripped herself away from him, he _screamed_ (she had screamed too, and some nights those screams are the only thing she can think of).

Later, when she and Senketsu absorbed all of Honnou’s life fibers that one final time, Junketsu had whispered to them, _thank you_.

He could’ve resisted—they _had_ been going against the Original Life Fiber, after all—but he hadn’t. He’d gone along because he’d been tired and in pain and he wanted to be _used._

Junketsu might’ve been as pigeonholed by Ragyo as the rest of them had been, but he had still been a monster.

But then again, they were all the same breed of monster, in the end.)

* * *

She lets Mako pick out most of her outfits. Satsuki gives her a suggestion every now and again. Eventually, she even starts asking Mikisugi and Tsumugu and the Elite Four, too.

She never wants to choose; there’s only one outfit that she wants to wear, but she’ll never find him again—

* * *

It’s been six months since Ragyo and the COVERS, and Honnou is already back on its feet; Satsuki is even sending platoons of students out to help with repairs in Osaka and the like. Ryuuko finds that she likes the way that circle skirts fit her waist.

That’s when the Hollows come.

(Of course, she doesn’t find out that they’re called that until much, much later.)

When Ryuuko first comes across one, all she can think is how _ugly_ the thing is: huge with broad shoulders and a sloping back, with strange eyes and too many teeth. It lunges at her with a shriek, one huge hand slicing down with deadly precision. She slams her fist into its head and watches the cracks spiderweb away from the point of impact. It groans pathetically and bursts into small, fluttering shards of light.

When Mako fusses over her red and swollen knuckles at dinner that night, Ryuuko tells her not to worry, and puts the whole incident out of mind.

The Hollows get harder to ignore, though, when people start going missing or turn up with bruises and abrasions caused by inhuman hands. One incident becomes two, and then several, until it’s been months, and people are leery of going outside.

Ryuuko hadn’t even so much as looked at the Scissor Blades since she lost Senketsu, but she’s not selfish; she won’t let her hurts stop her from protecting the people of Honnou. She finds a secondhand leather jacket with enough padding in the shoulders that the Blades don’t rub her raw. It looks nice with her new boots.

It’s as she’s plunging the left Scissor Blade—she doesn’t want to walk around with a giant pair of scissors, but it’s not like carrying only half of one makes it any less weird—into the eye of a giant bat-like Hollow that she discovers not everyone can see them.

“Those are some weird katas,” the kid who’s ass she just saved drawls, “You’re flyin’ all over the place, sis.”

“You didn’t see that?” she demands, flicking the Scissor Blade to the side to get the ichor off. The kid scowls.

“‘Course I did! Hard not to, with you swingin’ all over!”

She almost starts to clarify, but thinks better of it.

She still makes the brat buy her beef skewers as recompense, though.

* * *

It’s not that Ryuuko’s never thought about dying, it’s just that she thought if Ragyo wasn’t the one to do her in, then no one would. That no one _could_.

She is, obviously, wrong.

* * *

The chain sits heavy in her chest, the cold metal raising goosebumps on her skin. Her body looks strange, without her in it; she had been wearing thick leather boots (Kinagase’s suggestion) with a white pressed shirt and shorts (Ira’s), and now she can see now how pale the white makes her look. Her body is mostly intact thanks to the Life Fibers, but her skin is even paler from exsanguination. One of the damn Hollows—vaguely horse-like with a long anteater tongue—had sucked the blood right out of her, too quick for the Life Fibers to react. The left Scissor Blade is clutched rigor mortus-tight in one hand and the other is slack. She’d taken down at least thirty before that one, though; sudden as anything, they had all just shown up in droves, clustered around the city’s edges. 

There are people screaming, and crying and voices so familiar in such anguish that she can’t bear to acknowledge their pain. Their loss.

 _At least_ , she thinks as her vision grows black around the edges, _at least they’ll be safe_.

* * *

“… Ryuuko?”

She bolts upright so quickly that her vision swims and her neck throbs with the strain. But she doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, because she _knows_ that voice.

“S-Senketsu?!” and if her voice comes out broken and hurt and hopeful, well, she can hardly be blamed for that.

There’s a man—or a creature shaped like one—standing before her. The man smiles, and it’s such a familiar smile even though she’s never seen it before, and that cements it in her heart. This man, somehow, some way, is her Senketsu. He looks… Ainu, almost, with dark hair and yellow hawks’ eyes. His cheekbones are high and proud and his eyebrows are sharp. And he’s wearing—

“I missed you, Ryuuko,” he says at the same time that she can’t help but burst out, half-hysterical, “You look _ridiculous_!”

* * *

“It’s not that you don’t look…” She giggles hysterically into his bare stomach, the ruffles of the skirt and the thick garters pressing deep into her skin, “It’s just, you look, so—s- so-”

“I can’t really believe that you’re being sincere when you keep giggling like that,” Senketsu grumbles back, but he doesn’t stop hugging her.

Seconds pass, and she finally manages to whisper, “I missed you.”

“… I know.”

“Why did you have to leave?” _Why did you have to leave me alone?_

“A girl can always change clothes, but a kamui who will only be worn by one has only so many uses.”

Ryuuko sees red.

“Idiot! You- you- you fucking moron!” She shrieks, slamming a fist into Senketsu’s stomach and ignoring his pained exhale, “Just because a girl outgrows her Sunday Best doesn’t mean she won’t want to treasure him for the rest of her life! Even if I grew to be 50 feet and 7 tons, I would still want you by my side!”

The hands around her tighten, and she hugs back just as fiercely.

“Nothing’s ever going to separate us this time,” she promises him and, perhaps more importantly, herself, “I’ll kill anyone stupid enough to try.”

* * *

“Where the hell are we?” She asks, later, finally looking around. Everything is blue and white, like a clear sky in the summer.

“Look down,” Senketsu tells her. She does, and promptly leans over to sock him in the arm. They’re even now, she supposes, dazedly gazing down upon some town on grassy hills by the coast. It’s not like a clear sky, it is one. They are sitting _in the sky_.

“How come we’re not falling?” she demands, watching the people—whoever they are—go on with their lives, looking like so many ants.

“Look closer,” Senketsu instructs, gesturing.

Ryuuko squints, trying follow Senketsu’s line of sight and—there. Life Fibers, glistening like spider’s silk in the sun. They’re suspended on a hammock of Life Fibers, thousands of miles high in the air.

Senketsu smiles again, grasping her hand, “Welcome to your Inner World, Ryuuko.”

And then she wakes up.

* * *

“No!” Ryuuko gasps, flinging herself upright, ignoring the protest of her aching muscles. She’s back in Honnou, but night has fallen. The Scissor Blade is an odd weight in her hand. The streets are quiet and empty, and she wants to cry because that’s not _fair_ —

_It’s alright, Ryuuko. I’m still with you._

“Senketsu?!” She spins, trying to locate the direction of his voice, but it sounds as though she is surrounded by him, wrapped in between the folds of his fabric.

_I’m in your Inner World. And we’re staying together this time, remember?_

“Right... but Senketsu, what’s going on?”

He is silent for a long pause, and then, solemnly:

_You’re dead, Ryuuko._

Huh, so that actually happened.

“Does that mean those monster things…?”

_Yes, the Hollows._

“Hollows?”

_They are… tormented souls, in a way. The dead who don’t pass on and become so overcome by their own misery that they become monsters._

“Tormented souls? Monsters? Senketsu, what the hell have we gotten into?”

_I… don’t know. What little I do know, I feel as though I shouldn’t. I know that you have the potential to become a **Shinigami** , reapers of Hollows that help maintain the cycle of reincarnation. I’m afraid that we are no longer merely a girl and her kamui, Ryuuko, but something… **more**._

“Something more? More like what?”

_Look at me. ___

“Wha-?”

In her hand, is not the Scissor Blade, like she had assumed, but a sword. Or rather, two. They’re not katanas, but twin Dao swords, each blade curved and smooth, with simple wooden hilts wrapped in soft leather. Even so, there is but a single sheath. There’s probably some symbolism to that. Satsuki would know.

“Senketsu… this is you?”

_Yes. And they are also you. We are truly one now, Ryuuko._

She arranges the sheath to sit across her shoulders, like she would the Scissor Blade, before – on a whim – she shifts it until it sits angled low on her back instead. It’s new, but it feels… right.

“Alright Senketsu. Let’s go.”

* * *

As it turns out, she can’t just waltz up to Shinigami-land, or whatever the hell it’s called, and demand entry or acceptance.

 _I don’t even know how we’d get there_ , Senketsu had admitted, _I feel as though your remaining in Honnou after your death isn’t normal._

“Yeah, well,” she’d snarked back, “When are we ever?”

If nothing else, remaining in Honnou means being able to put a dent in the ever increasing Hollow infestation. The Dao take some getting used to—they’re shorter than the Scissor Blades were, though far less cumbersome—but after a week or so, she gets the hang of it. It turns out that she can also change her clothes by focusing like she would if she were synchronizing with Senketsu, much to her relief. Even if it’s what she died in, wearing that much white after Labor Day is incredibly gauche.

Being dead isn’t as inconspicuous as she would’ve imagined, though.

“Ryuuko-chan!!” The first time Mako had called out to her after her death, she’s dropped the swords and almost tripped over herself in surprise.

“You can _see_ me?”

“Of course! I’ll always be able to find Ryuuko-chan! Wait, does this mean you’re a _ghost_ now? Ryuuko-chan is so _cool_!”

Satsuki can see her, and so can the Elite Four, but the rest of the Mankanshoku’s can’t. However, like everything having to do with Ryuuko, they just take it all in stride.

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t die,” Jakazure scowls. Sanageyama laughs.

“Ryuuko-sama has always been resilient,” Ira defends her, though even he looks caught off guard.

“You will report to Iori for further examination,” Satsuki commands, which is her way of saying _I thought I had lost you, and you will never again cause me to think so._

Iori and Inamuta want to do a bunch of weird science shit, like testing her “intangibility” and “effects on corporeal objects”. Ryuuko draws one of Senketsu and politely declines. The lab barely survives, though Inamuta seems to find whatever data he gathered to be sufficient.

“When we buried you, the whole town brought flowers,” Mako confides to her, weeks later, in the dark of night, “And everybody was so sad, because we didn't have Ryuuko-chan anymore. Ryuuko-chan probably would’ve hated it.”

Ryuuko doesn't say anything, doesn't know what to say ( _I never meant to make you cry_ ) and instead she just lets Mako draw her into a hug and eventually, hours later when Mako has fallen asleep, arms still wrapped around Ryuuko, she whispers, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Ryuuko meets her first Shinigami and is hardly impressed.

She’s putting down another group of Hollows, like the 15th one today alone, when someone calls out “Sing, Benehime!” and a red light intercepts her final blow.

“What the fuck?” She only just manages to recover her balance, just in time to see the Asshole—dressed in _Forest Green_ of all colors—cleave the last Hollow neatly in two.

“Who the hell,” Ryuuko snaps, tightening her grip on her swords, “do you think you are?”

The Shinigami—who else could it be, wielding a katana and killing Hollows?—gives a little smirk, and bows, taking his (atrociously green and white _pinstriped_ ) hat off as he dips. 

“Urahara Kisuke at your service, Matoi-kun.”

Ryuuko shifts her balance to her heels and scowls, “Who the hell is Matoi?”

The Shinigami—Urahara— _titters_ and whips out a paper fan, fluttering it coyly.

“Oh come now, Matoi-kun, no need to be shy.”

Ryuuko sheathes her swords, folds her arms over her chest, and passes judgment.

“Who let you leave the house wearing _that_?”

She can’t help it; since his return, Senketsu has turned her into a bit of a fashion snob.

* * *

Completely ignoring Urahara’s _Matoi-kun_ this and _oh come now_ that, she manages to herd him to Honnouji.

“Satsuki!” Ryuuko shouts as they approach the building proper, startling Urahara into a full body flinch, “Open up!”

The front doors creak open and Ryuuko stalks forward, Urahara obviously curious but (thankfully) silent behind her.

“Kiryuin Satsuki can detect your presence?” Urahara whispers at some point in the fifth floor corridor.

“Nah, the building’s haunted,” Ryuuko lies brazenly, just to fuck with him. If he’s not going to tell her how he seems to know everyone in Honnou by name—like a _stalker_ , she will continues to point out acerbically, just to see him affect a flinch or grimace—why should she make things easier for him? 

“Matoi-kun, I think you’re having me on,” Urahara smirks, just as Satsuki steps up behind him—silently, as ever—and clears her throat.

Urahara’s yelp of surprise is well worth the betrayed look he shoots her.

* * *

“I see,” Satsuki hums, peering at Urahara over her folded hands. Ryuuko has seen lesser men quail at that look, but Urahara’s humble façade seems to bear it easily. Maybe it’s the hat.

“Would you be willing to procure Ryuuko with one of these… gigai?”

Urahara smiles again and Satsuki’s fingers flex in a way that means she wants Bakuzan. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Kiryuin-san,” Urahara says, pulling that ugly hat off his head and using it to gesture to himself humbly, “I would be _delighted_.”

* * *

So Ryuuko gets a temporary body—in exchange for what, Ryuuko doesn’t know and Satsuki isn’t telling—and gives some bullshit prepared speech about how she had 'temporarily transcended her human form' to ensure that the last of the COVERS were gone from Honnou. It’s pure horseshit (and according to Iori and Inamuta, _probably_ impossible for her), but Satsuki insists it’s only considerate considering that the whole town had held a wake in her honor.

The people of Honnou go along with whatever Satsuki says, just like they always have, and give her a heartfelt, if eerie, welcome back. Everything’s back to as normal as Honnou could ever be.

And then Urahara goes missing.

* * *

Urahara’s not from Honnou, isn’t staying there, doesn’t even stay long, but he _does_ show up frequently. At least once or twice a week, to teach Ryuuko zanjutsu or conspire with Satsuki. From the moment he crossed Ryuuko’s path to the many months afterward spent procuring a gigai and learning things like shunpo and reiatsu control, Urahara had become a semi-permanent, horribly-dressed fixture around Honnou.

(Who wears _traditional geta_ anymore, let alone year-round? Ugh.)

But then autumn turns to winter and he… disappears.

“What do mean ‘I don’t know’?” Ryuuko snaps at Satsuki, waving one of Senketsu for emphasis, “You know everything, you big-browed control freak!”

“Show some respect to your elders, you insolent whelp!” Satsuki retorts, jabbing a Bakuzan-covered nail in her face, “Urahara’s dropped off the map."

She actually produces a regional map and snaps, "Here's his last know location—"

"You _stalker_ ," Ryuuko accuses gleefully. Satsuki ignores her with practiced ease and orders, "Go _**find**_ him.”

* * *

That’s how Ryuuko winds up in some town named Karakura—bigger than Honou and no coast in sight—pulling her bike to a stop just in time for the sky to flicker and the whole town to _warp_.

“The hell?!” she spits, one hand falling to Senketsu instinctively.

When everything stops shaking and rumbling, nothing looks to have changed, but Ryuuko can feel it like static along her skin that something happened.

She leaves her bike and starts looking for Urahara.

* * *

She only knows the basics of being a shinigami really, because she’s still, after everything, a being of Life Fibers. She was already fast, but Urahara taught her how to be faster. She was already strong, but Urahara taught her to channel that strength through Senketsu. There _is_ one thing he truly taught her, however, and that was how to sense and identify.

“You ready, Senketsu?” Ryuuko murmurs, letting her hand fall to the twin hilts she knows by heart now, “To find this moron?”

 _Of course, Ryuuko_ , Senketsu replies, and she can feel the warmth of him settling around everything she is and he is and they are.

Ryuuko exhales and ribbons start to furl down from the sky.

* * *

Urahara’s ribbon is easy to find, if only because she knows it so well. She grabs it, tenses her legs and speeds off in her own brand of shunpo.

She shows up just in time to block a sword headed right for that idiot’s back.

He’s still dressed in that _**godawful**_ forest green and pinstriped getup, she notes as the other blade rebounds off of Senketsu and begins to retract back to its bewildered looking fox-eyed wielder. He’s got his own zanpakuto—Benehime, wasn’t it?—drawn in one hand and he looks equally surprised at her arrival.

Around them, there are dozens upon dozens of strangers, all dressed in blacks and whites, and all looking thrown for a loop.

Jeez, they're all acting like she just killed somebody or something.

“Hey, Fashion Disaster,” Ryuuko calls, voice raspy but booming in the sudden silence, “Nice going. My sister’s _**pissed**_.”

* * *

“Ah,” Urahara manages after a few more seconds of too still silence, “Matoi-kun, how did you find—?”

“What, like you’re hard to find? I mean,” Ryuuko steamrolls over him, resting one of Senketsu on her shoulder, “You just up and disappear without so much as a by-your-leave, and you’ve still got the nerve to wear that godawful hat? And those stupid geta! I oughta kick your ass right now!”

“Matoi-kun, please,” Urahara tries, though he does pull the hat from his head. Someone nearby lets out a strangled laugh.

“And _then_ ,” Ryuuko goes on, gesturing widely with her free hand, “You don’t invite me to your fucking battle royale?”

As she talks, she stalks closer, peripherally noting who’s who and where; there are more people wearing Black-and-White than there are White-and-Black, and the former are closer to Urahara. Probably on his side, then. She feels almost out of place in her simply gray peat coat, dark jeans and ever-faithful boots, while the rest of these weirdos look like samurai wannabes. Some of them are wearing important looking haori, though a handful are dressed in plain street clothes. Either way, the power levels are all over the place. Whatever this is, it’s big and probably on its way to ugly real soon.

“Ura… _Kisuke_ ,” Ryuuko scowls, close enough that she doesn’t have to speak above a whisper to be heard, “ _Do you need my help?_ ”

Urahara looks at her; no deflecting with that stupid fan, no coy smirks. He brings his hat to his chest and dips his head, eyes wide and _pleading_ , “Yes, Matoi-kun. Please.”

Ryuuko glances around from under her fringe, cataloging faces and uniforms.

“Alright,” she nods, like there was ever any question, “You owe me lunch, though.”

* * *

“Alright,” she says again, louder, taking a step from Urahara and raising one of Senketsu to point at the White-and-Black clad figures around her, “Which one of these bastards is pissin’ you off the most?”

There are aborted movements of shock and hissed breaths all around, after that. The tension—the power—in the air becomes a little heavier. Some of the White-and-Black ones sneer at her, or snarl. Ryuuko rolls her eyes. _Please_ , she’d survived and defeated _Kiryuin Ragyo_. Anything less is an insult.

Urahara—looking so, so tired and worn, like it’s been years instead of months—catches her eye and says, “Aizen.”

He points.

Ryuuko follows his finger and—

“Is that a fucking _butterfly_?”

Just like that, the stillness and the silence break, and then everything is just pure chaos.

There are bodies being flung, power flaring and waning, swords glinting as they cross. It’s an all-out war, and Ryuuko has stepped right into it. Willingly, for Urahara Kisuke. Who wants her to go after some weirdo who looks like he’s trying to one-up that one weird ass American pop star.

The things she does for this moron, she swears.

* * *

(If there’s one thing Urahara never had to teach her, it was working with Senketsu. He taught her zanjutsu, sure, but Ryuuko knows Senketsu like a second skin and they never work as well as when they’re working _together_. So, Urahara Kisuke might not have though anything of it, because he only taught Ryuuko for some odd months, but Ryuuko and Senketsu have been working _meticulously_ towards it, ever since she died: Bankai.)

There’s no need for that kind of overkill, right off the bat, though.

* * *

She draws Senketsu’s second blade, and holds both even at her waist. Around them, there is fighting. In the midst of that, there is a man she needs to kill.

Her voice isn’t raised, but the **intent** of it reaches across every inch of the battlefield.

“ _Synchronize, Kamui Senketsu_!”

* * *

Urahara Kisuke isn’t much used to surprises, and yet Matoi Ryuuko continues to leave him poleaxed.

When he’d stumbled across an unusual fluctuation of hollow activity in the small town of Honnou, he certainly hadn’t expected to come across someone fighting them off. And yet, there Matoi-kun was, a recently deceased spirit _with a zanpakuto_ , _**outside of Seireitei**_ , cutting down hollows. It boggled the mind.

His plan had been to observe the girl, but Matoi was as abrasive and aggressive as she was oddly charismatic, and before Kisuke knew what was what, he was conversing with Kiryuin Satsuki, handing over a gigai, and visiting frequently.

Even now, he doesn’t know much about Matoi-kun, let alone about the absurd strength of the bond she has with her zanpakuto; she’d apparently acquired him _immediately_ upon her death, the implications of which make his head hurt. He’d taught her a few things, but hardly even that. The girl was a _fighter_ , not just a protector like Kurosaki-kun, but a warrior, someone who had seen death and shed blood and killed, not just defeated, and there wasn’t much he could teach her, but he could make her better. With Aizen scheming in the background, skulking and amassing power, Matoi Ryuuko had been a welcome reprieve.

She’s _not supposed to be here_ , in this duplicate Karakura, all caustic shark grins and familiar banter. And yet.

Hope is burgeoning in Kisuke’s chest like a moored buoy, and he hates himself for it, for already thinking of foisting Aizen off onto the shoulders of someone ever more uninvolved in this battle than Kurosaki-kun and his friends.

But, more than anything, Matoi-kun is strong, ferociously so, and damn stubborn.

Between all of them, they might be able to end this. Once and for all.

“Matoi-kun!” He starts to call, but before the words can leave his lips, the air thins and—

“ _Synchronize, Kamui Senketsu!_ ”

The dust clears. Sailor uniform, worn like a second skin, maybe a bit _too_ literally. Ruffles, garters. Dao blades gleaming red and wicked. Matoi-kun’s familiar smirk and then—

The uniform opens its one eye and says, voice deep and smooth, “Ah, it’s good to be worn by you again, Ryuuko.”

One day, Kisuke muses as the battles around them once again come to halt at not just the influx of reiatsu but the _talking uniform_ , perhaps Matoi-kun will stop _surprising_ him like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, I was going to make Ryuuko’s zanpakuto look like two Moplah Choppers, but the twin dao seemed better suited, since they _did_ used to be a pair of giant scissors.
> 
>  
> 
> [writing/art tumblr](http://manymouths.tumblr.com)


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